


Message In The Pipeline

by Omorka



Category: Sneakers (1992)
Genre: Gen, Offscreen Violence, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-24
Updated: 2010-03-24
Packaged: 2017-10-08 07:25:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omorka/pseuds/Omorka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mother's had a run-in with some unpleasant people; the rest of the team rushes to his rescue - but how will they find him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Message In The Pipeline

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the first-line prompt "The warmth was overpowering in that small space," by Fiona_Conn on my LJ. Intended to take place circa 2007, about 15 years after the events of the movie.

The warmth was overpowering in that small space. The room had never been meant for anything more than a storage closet; whoever had decided to put the hot water heater for the whole building in there was probably in violation of the building code two or three different ways. The lack of ventilation was also problematic.

If Mother managed to get out of here, he was going to register a complaint with someone. Who did you call to report shoddy refit construction?

It didn't matter, probably. These were mob guys, after all. Cheap cement was their stock in trade; he was lucky they'd just left him tied to the outflow pipe. If someone started running a dishwasher, he was going to get burned, but he'd probably survive.

He glanced sideways. The pilot light was still on. Well, he probably had better chances with the carbon dioxide and the excess heat than he would with the equivalent of a slow gas leak.

If only someone knew he was here . . . .

\---

"You're sure this is the right building?" Crease asked for the fourth time.

"Positive," Carl replied, leaning over the security terminal in the lobby. "They blew through a red light on the way here and got caught on the auto-photo. I love that the traffic cops kind of want people to hack into that - if the perps get embarrassed, it makes their jobs easier." He flicked a switch on the panel and was rewarded with the Windows start-up jingle. "Damn. We'll have to wait for this to boot back up."

"Not necessarily," Marty said, glancing around the lobby. "The building isn't that big." He pressed against the wall; the granite-patterned vinyl veneer flexed slightly. "We could go ahead and start searching while you and Whistler wait here for the security system to come back online."

"I'd rather come with you," Whistler protested.

Marty checked himself before he sighed. "We're on a rescue mission here. There might be running. There could even be running up and down stairs."

"At least let me search the first floor with you guys," Whistler pleaded. "Then you can park me at the security panel."

Carl looked up. "You _smell_ something, man?" He'd always been a believer in Whistler's hearing, but lately he'd been oddly impressed by Whistler's ability to tell different objects apart by scent.

Liz shook her head at them. "Tell you what, Marty, I'll stick with Whistler until we clear the first floor. Who knows? Maybe we'll have Darryl back by then, and it'll be a moot issue."

"It'd be nice." Crease shot a glance down the hallway that ran crosswise from the elevator, then walked away on cat feet.

Marty decided that fighting both Liz and Whistler was a losing battle. "Sure, that's fine." He headed off in the opposite direction.

Liz held out one arm. "Shall we?"

"After you." Whistler's grin was slightly unsettling as he settled a palm on her wrist; Carl watched as they headed down the hallway behind the security desk, shrugged, and returned to the ancient PC running the security cameras.

Crease returned a few minutes later. "Nothing down there but a cubicle farm and an ATM. Got anything yet?"

"Looks like our bad guys tried to crash the system on their way out." Carl's fingers danced across the keys. "They weren't good enough to clean up their footprints, though." He pointed to a black-and-white still image on the screen; two burly men were struggling with someone whose face was away from the camera.

"Looks like Mother, but we can't prove it from that," Crease mused.

Bishop returned from his scouting expedition. "This place has the worst locks I've ever seen."

"Find anything?" Carl asked, flipping through the next few frames. None of them showed the prisoner's face.

"Several office workers' stashes of porn and chocolate. Nothing that helps us," Marty said, shrugging.

Liz poked her head out of the hallway. "Come here," she commanded, and disappeared again.

"What?" Marty called after her.

"Don't shout," she replied, and kept walking. Crease and Bishop shrugged, and followed her.

The hallway made several turns before dead-ending at a men's room. Liz pushed the door open and stepped inside. Crease stopped short; Bishop followed her, then ducked back out. "It's okay, come on." Crease blinked, then caught the door and joined them.

Whistler was standing over one of the two battered and rust-stained sinks, his hands flat against the taps. "Mother's here," he stated in Bishop's general direction.

"In the bathroom?" Crease twisted around to look over the wall of the stall.

"No, but he's in the building somewhere. I heard him when we passed the office kitchen earlier, but it's easier to feel in here." Whistler reached out and groped for Marty's hand; Bishop let him take it and press it to the hot-water tap.

_Clunk, clunk, clunk._

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

Clunk, clunk, clunk.

"SOS on the hot-water pipes?" Marty watched Whistler nod. "Can you follow it?"

"I can probably play hot and cold with it." Whistler grinned.

\---

Mother groaned and tried to roll over. The sweat was dripping into his eyes, and his legs were tired. He'd been lucky - no one had tried to run the water yet.

He kicked at the pipe again with the little wriggle room in the ropes around his legs. Three short, pause, three longer, pause, three short.

Again.

And again. His arms ached from their unnatural position behind him; he couldn't feel his fingers.

_Thump._

He jumped - did that mean the water was coming on? He froze, trying to hold his limbs as far from the pipe as possible.

_Thump._ No, that was someone else beating on the pipe. Mother's heart jumped into his throat. The thugs, coming back for him and warning him to stop? Or -

Footsteps rang outside the utility closet, followed by muffled voices. "Mother? You in there?" That was Bishop. Mother's shoulders sagged in relief. He kicked at the pipe again, this time without a pattern.

Something slid against the doorframe, and the lock clicked. The door swung open slowly, and the sudden light flared in his eyes. Mother raised his head against the duct-tape gag and breathed in the cool air from the corridor as Marty rushed in, eyes wide and flashing.


End file.
